"Things We Learned in (fill in the year)" is the title of my friend Heather's annual letter included with her family's Christmas card. So beloved is this note, my daughters have often asked during December, "Is it here yet?"
It is the best holiday letter we receive. Every. Single. Year.
So, with most sincere apologies to Heather, Dan, Andrew, Grace and Julia, I am hoping that they subscribe to Charles Caleb Colton's aphorism: "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery" while I steal their idea to close out 2011.
What I learned in 2011...
~Woody Allen is back with his movie "Midnight In Paris." ~Flying business class for the first time has ruined any other flight I will take - forever. ~High school students maintain a black hole of excuses for missing assignments. ~The car has been the scene of some of the finest conversations and most hateful arguments with my teenager. ~Forgiveness is always an option. ~Older people consistently offer a greeting when I am walking. Younger people rarely do. ~I am on a mission to give and receive greetings for all walkers I see on my way (regardless if they are wearing earbuds) ~I, too often, give fear my internal steering wheel. ~Stopping in Armonk NY for a hot vanilla chai tea removes my 'inner cranky' during car rides to and from Boston. ~There is no end to delicious Italian food in the North End. ~Farmers markets provide much more than just good food. ~Teaching your teen to drive is one of the five bravest things a parent does. ~(The other four bravest things are shifting everyday)
~Joni Mitchell is right...we are stardust. ~Astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson details our stardust origins with gorgeous passion and humor (Take a moment and watch him explain this to Stephen Colbert from minute markers 21:21 to 25:30 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YXh9RQCvxmg) ~You can never see the Macy's Holiday Light Show too many times.
Have a peaceful, joyful, healthy 2012 full of learning...
My $5.00 gift to myself this Christmas has brought me more joy, laughter, and vocal challenge than I could imagine. And I was thrilled to be sharing it with 349 other joy-seekers for a third year.
I sang with the beloved Julie Andrews. And the dashing Christopher Plummer. And the incomparable Peggy Wood. Even sweet Angela Cartwright (the actress I wanted to become aside from Marlo Thomas!)
I attended Bryn Mawr Film Institute's annual screening of "The Sound of Music." What makes it one of my favorite things is that it is a sing-a-long. It's a sort of G-Rated Rocky Horror Picture Show with audience members in costume, and lots of interacting with the action on the screen, family style.
Nuns, kittens (with whiskers), several "Do-Re-Me" choruses, two brides in full wedding garb, brown paper packages tied up with string and girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes filled the theater to participate in the holiday ritual. There was even a group who came as the hills - very much alive! My friend Susan, daughter Ali, her friend Tori and I donned our restrained, literal costumes - a single sparkly snowflake on each of our noses (could not figure out how to get them on our eyelashes). One friend noted it was a sort of Halloween inspired Christmas.
Just watching costumed people file into the theater was fun enough. But the best was yet to be when the lyrics appeared on the screen to the title song (and the others to follow.) The exuberant "Do-Re-Me" captivated us while the innocence of "Sixteen Going On Seventeen" belied what was to come.
Hearing a theater-full of patrons wholeheartedly join Mother Abbess (the amazing Peggy Wood) in climbing every mountain and fording every stream gave me chills. I teared up wondering about the collective burdens we all carry and the dreams we try to follow. In those brief three hours, we set them aside and let movie magic take over.
Two women and their daughters sat beside us and were our favorite reincarnations. One was a dead ringer for Max Detweiler (with a superbly drawn on pencil mustache) and the other, a fur toting Baroness sporting a tiara. Their daughters dressed in old curtain fabric with kerchiefs to match. Perfection!
We cheered for the 'problem' Maria, booed and hissed at the unrelenting Nazis and the universally misunderstood Baroness, and waved goodbye with the real party goers in the palatial VonTrapp foyer. None of the unwritten rules of movie etiquette were observed - we were unleashed to connect with our inner VonTrapp. We unabashedly displayed our silly selves and made Neil Young proud by letting our freak flags fly.
The sing-a-long opened up some thoughts on my favorite things - they are always changing, but right now they include:
The moment I feel fear unlock its grip. The understanding from a friend. The understanding from a stranger. Music that pricks at our unlimited emotions. Our Christmas Eve 'Seven Fish' tradition. Feeling loved. Giving love.
And, of course, being a Von Trapp for one silly little evening.
Why? My kids are older teens, so I think I missed the boat when this popular little fella and his book hit the store shelves (at $30 a pop - another clever, financially rewarding idea that slipped by me!)
"The Elf on the Shelf," by mother/daughter duo Carol Aebersold and Chanda Bell, made its way to me not from browsing bookstores or libraries but from my daily Facebook check. Several posts of harried mothers forgetting to relocate an elf in their home caught my eye. The elf apparently is Santa's watchful home spy noting the behavior of children between Thanksgiving and Christmas. By my count that is about 30 days of diligence during one of the busiest times of the year. It's a daily "to do" that, according to many Facebook posting parents, can be easily overlooked. At first blush this elf does not sound very parent friendly, but it has nonetheless emerged as an extremely popular 'new-ish' tradition. The Shelf Elf has a ring of Tooth Fairy as parents inevitably forget to move the fella around the house. (Oh for the nights when the last words spoken between spouses were "Did you, Tooth Fairy, put a dollar under her pillow?") Remembering to turn off the tree lights and brush my teeth max out my current capacity for daily things I must not forget to do.
Still, the elf serves a noteworthy purpose in keeping anxious, overtired kids aware of their actions. The elf is watching. Always. It's sort of a nanny cam for Christmas. But the twist is that the elf must move while everyone sleeps. Sounds like it removes some sleep from the mover - Mom.
There are blogs galore regarding the shelf sitting sprite - some sweet, some downright hilarious, some crass - there's room at the table for all types of elving.
In the 'sweet' category, "Home Stories A to Z" gives ideas on mischievous things the elf can do during the night after reporting back to Santa. I am picturing the elf, on one hand, tweeting Santa the behavior update while, on the other hand, acting as a sort of poltergeist in the wee hours. (Yes, there is a Twitter handle for Elf on the Shelf: @elfontheshelf) The possibilities for elf rascality seem endless as long as the parent has energy and a memory.http://www.homestoriesatoz.com/2011/11/elf-on-shelf-ideas-elf-on.html
Another blog titled "People I Want To Punch in the Throat" is side splittingly funny in its elf treatment. Some of the other posts are rougher, but the blog title lets readers know what they are in for: posts are light on the sweet and heavy on the sarcastic. Jen (with no last name) dispenses disbelief for parents who go the distance with creating scenarios of elf pranks (taking all the ornaments off the tree, baking cookies at 3 AM and leaving the mess, etc.) The often snarky humor may not be for everyone, but Jen gets her point across like, well, a punch to the throat. I think "Jen's" anonymity raises a flag re: who is behind the blog, but it is funny just the same. http://peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.blogspot.com/2011/12/over-achieving-elf-on-shelf-mommies.html
I think if my kids were small I would be a moderate elf sitting supporter. I recall elaborating on a pre-school project my daughters brought home one year. It was a chain of 24 red and green construction paper links, making it a very, very simple, yet clever, Christmas countdown for little ones. Each day, they removed a link setting their toddler sense of time closer and closer to December 25. I tampered with the ingenious project in subsequent years, writing something for each girl to do on each link, to give it more meaning. I ignored my inner Thoreau. It was a struggle concocting different suggestions for both children (that's 48 'unique' ideas!) Thoreau chuckled and I eventually relented, albeit stubbornly, as the girls got older.
Parents eventually have to wrestle with questions about the elf's "realness" as they are heaped on the stockpile with Santa and the Tooth Fairy. Alas, no good deed goes unpunished. I think it's worth the effort.
Christa Pitts with authors Carol Aebersold and Chanda Bell. Ms. Pitts is co-CEO of CCA and B and Ms. Aeberold's daughter.
It is noteworthy that the authors, both former teachers, first published "The Elf on the Shelf" in 2005 by forming their own publishing company, CCA and B, LLC. According to the 12/9/11 article titled "How I Became a Best-Selling Author" in the Wall Street Journal, "Self publishing is upending the book industry" as authors with a fistful of rejections use their savvy and strategic pricing to invest in their work. Darcie Chan, author of "The Mill River Recluse," used a nuts and bolts approach to digital publishing that resulted in her work "attracting bids form foreign imprints, movie studios and audio-book publishers, without selling a single copy in print." The ebook explosion has brought self-publishing into a small but intense light of recognition, bypassing traditional steps to a book deal. Notes the WSJ article, "Ms. Chan bought some ads on Web sites targeting e-book readers, paid for a review from Kirkus Reviews, and strategically priced her book at 99 cents to encourage readers to try it."
Ms. Bell and Aerbsold's company web-site goes a step further to support 'innovative and family focused products' offering guidelines on how to submit work for publishing. They straddle the worlds of striving authors and publishing companies using their recent success as concrete guideposts. http://www.ccaandb.com/submis_strt.php
The Elf on the Shelf seems like a sort of guardian angel who tattles. I'm for ideas that help parents raise kids to think about their actions. How about something more tech-savvy that removes the parental 'to do" - like an elf-cam? George Orwell would love it. Thoreau? Not so much.
Perspective can split the truth. One eyewitness point of view can be drastically different from another simply due to perspective. The same scenario can be cut into different, and opposing, pieces depending on who saw/heard what. The answer to "Who done it?" often depends on the point of view of "Who saw it?"
This holds true whether we are witnessing a crime or an accident, viewing a work of art or watching a live performance.
With two daughters involved in the arts in some form, I, like many parents, have clocked significant time sitting as an audience member in theaters, auditoriums, gyms converted into performance spaces, studios, outdoor amphitheaters, and even parking lots used for performing. Those of us watching assume the posture of witnesses as we see a performance unfurl before us from the traditional perspective in front of a stage.
I thought about being a witness this weekend as I stood backstage at my younger daughter's dance school's Nutcracker performances. I had a new perspective because I was tucked in the theater wings intermittently viewing the colorful cyclone of dance that is Nutcracker.
"Whooooosh" best sums up the pace of entrance and exit sounds as the lithe, enthusiastic, powerful athletes hit that stage. My side view was a half view of luminous dancers performing full out as the spotlight bathed them in white. Once they hit the darkened wings, their exhales temporarily broke the magic. Breathing (often panting) in huge gulps, they spun around back onto the stage reclaiming their performance personas - never flinching, always smiling, looking effortless.
Of course, it is anything but effortless. I've seen a dance sweatshirt that teasingly proclaims, "If dance were any easier it would be called football." Dance has many expressions and athleticism is a main ingredient. What I realized as these fit performers pranced to and fro was another aspect of sports that had little to do with the performance - it was team spirit. My view from the wings went beyond the stage and into the faces of dancers in the opposite wings. They reminded me of teammates on the sidelines of any sporting event. Just as in football or soccer or baseball, the team on the sidelines cheered for the team on the field.
Dancers watching their own perform is a mini spectacle. Their eyes are wide with wonder, their hands mirror infinitesimal foot motions, their mouths are gently agape as they hold a momentary breath of anticipation. Once the performers exit the stage, they face a rush of support for their latest effort. And, if the performance has problems, support greets them just the same because every dancer knows the feel of missteps and falls.
They dance equally in the language of perfection and empathy.
Regardless of age, these ever watchful athletes, earnestly pull for whomever is on stage as they applaud particular moments of success. They often mime the performance in minute mirror movements. They understand what it is to be under the lights. From my sideways view, I realized dancers offstage either see themselves in roles past or roles future while they witness someone else's onstage efforts - in the present.
This was an unexpected slice of magic to come from this weekend's Nutcracker.
Dancing is about mastering a progression of small steps. I am most definitely not a dancer, but this weekend I learned more about the heart of dance than the mechanics. It provided a precious perspective.
In these swirling 31 days, it is important to hit the pause button on the spinning and ponder the equally real difficulties experienced with mourning, illness, unemployment, depression - hardships. The calendar has no conscience for these realities but we do.
Boston University is approaching this subject head on with a special Sunday service this month aptly named "Blue Christmas" as an outlet for those who need to unmask a sadness or difficulty in the quiet support of a spiritual setting. The idea for this specific type of event began in Canada in 1996. Churches, temples, and community organizations have embraced its creed since, molding the services to their audience needs. Creating a safe zone for sorrow seems to be the essential intention of the timely program. And who doesn't want to feel safe in grief, as well as joy? http://www.bu.edu/today/2011/blue-christmas-comes-to-bu/
As noted in BU's online magazine, "BU Today," Christ's birth, while dignified in the hymn Silent Night, sparked a bloodbath when King Herod murdered male infants in an effort to eliminate the threat of this newborn King. Those deaths are as real as His birth. As we celebrate the soul of this holiday, however, we struggle to make room for pain, I think, because the darkness shifts the picture into an unbalanced and out of kilter state.
Rev. Victoria Gaskell, chaplain associate for Methodist students at BU's Marsh Chapel, noted, with other campus clergy, there was a significant number of students who sought solace from the campus ministry last year at this time. It was decided to offer this service to open up a place that says it's okay to be sad, even at Christmas.
"This is just something that we are offering for people who find spiritual challenges in this season," notes Rev. Gaskell in the article. "The people who are participating in the service are chosen in part because the work that they do at BU addresses some of the challenges that people might be facing."
When I was newly pregnant with my youngest daughter over 16 years ago, it was a December day I recall twisting in a cyclone of anxiety . I was considered a high risk pregnancy due to my age and had received an upsetting test result early on in the pregnancy suggesting something was terribly wrong with the baby. The day after getting the news (at work no less), I shuffled among several doctor appointments for more testing and lots of conversation. In the bustling OB/GYN waiting room, I sat next to a pregnant woman and her mother. Their conversation was most common in that setting yet it pained me in every way. The mother/daughter pair savored the anticipated birth of the child, giggled with excitement over choosing names, planned for decorating a nursery etc.
Their mutual hope flowed in a stream of easy awareness. Conversely, I was frozen by a glacier of fear. I had known their joy on other days, but until that moment, I never considered the possible sadness that could also be present in an OB/GYN waiting room. How many others wrestling with life changing test results, or experiencing a recent miscarriage, or battling with severe gynecological issues shared that space along with the elatedly expecting?
I wondered how many times my joy had thoughtlessly spilled over with no regard to someone else's sadness. The mother/daughter duo did nothing wrong. Their waiting room experience was as true as mine. They, in fact, blindly gave me the priceless gift of awareness. Their joy perfectly countered my sadness and continues to remind me to consider both in all circumstances. I think of them, grateful for what I learned in one of my darkest moments. It is a comfort.
As I listen to the exquisite Shawn Colvin's rendition of the carol/hymn "In the Bleak Midwinter," I hear her echo these piercing emotions with perfect pitch, specifically in these two stanzas:
"In the bleak midwinter, icy wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow on snow had fallen, snow on snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.
What then can I give Him, empty as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would know my part;
What then can I give Him: I must give my heart."*
While often uncertain, the giving of our hearts is essential no matter what the tremors of fear signal us.
The BU Blue Christmas service will include a reading from Isaiah 40:1 which begins with "Comfort, O comfort My people." Yes, amid December's joy and celebration, it is this feeling of ease that I seek; to rest in the comfort of knowing I am loved and that like love, pain and darkness also need attention and a safe harbor, especially during "the most wonderful time of year."
*"In the Bleak MIdwinter" is a carol adapted from a poem written by Christina Rossetti circa 1872.
This timeworn salutation is precious especially when I think about letters prepared by my girls in the not so distant past. I remember paging through the toy section of the hefty Sears catalog fantasizing about my choices when I was a kid. I also remember the trek to Wanamaker's in Center City to deliver the news directly to Santa Claus (and ride in the train that cruised high above the grand store's famed 8th floor toy department.)
Whether we use a child's wish list or one supplied by Amazon.com, we try to make someone's gift wishes come true during the holidays. Somewhere at the crossroads of Christmas giving and Christmas receiving lies the question: what are we really asking for?
Are gift cards personal? No. Specific? Possibly. Worthwhile? Certainly.
But is the nature of gift giving only fulfilling pre-ordained desires? Just checking off items on a list? Is gift giving soley about hitting the wish list target or can it be, well, more?
In her NYTimes article titled "The Gimme Guide," Penelope Green offers a scant view into the psychology of giving. Citing studies done by two professors from Harvard Business School and Stanford Graduate School of Business, the article looks at both what we want as receivers and what we want to give. Titled “Give Them What They Want: The Benefits of Explicitness in Gift-Exchange,” the study "demonstrated that people accrued more pleasure from a gift (and were more appreciative of it) if it was something they had requested. What’s more, the study’s subjects rated givers as more thoughtful if they gave from a wish list. Yet the givers (poor saps) wrongly imagined that their giftees would be equally appreciative of gifts that hadn’t been solicited. They were also mistaken in believing a gift of cash would be less welcome." http://www.nytimes.com/2011/12/01/garden/the-holiday-gimme-guide.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1&hp
Cash = good. Creative gift = bad. It makes for easy shopping but, boy does that sting. We want what we want, I guess.
The article cites Kit Yarrow, a consumer research psychologist and a co-author of “Generation Buy: How Tweens, Teens and Twentysomethings Are Revolutionizing Retail” who identifies our personal lifestyles as something we define in our homes and in how we dress. So we want gifts to "match our taste, style and identity." This is equally true in the broader view if we look at themed parties, showers, and weddings. And think about a destination wedding - it's the ultimate specific "want" as we ask those invited to travel wherever to witness a ceremony that can take place in our backyards.
This intrigues me as I look on the walls of my home and see mostly photos, a couple of charcoal portraits, or personal items hung on them. Like many, I did not just want generic decorative things displayed but very specific images that represented the family living here. I recall my husband's maternal grandmother, Odie Moore, rummaging through old blankets about 20 years ago as she pared down her life and prepared to toss out a drab, spare, mostly shredded in spots, quilt sewn by her grandmother! She chuckled at why she would ever keep such a thing - utility came first with her generation and this blanket would not serve keeping anyone warm.
I, on the other hand, saw the handiwork as something precious that had a family history. I remember Odie's quizzical smile as I asked to have the discarded item. She may not have understood my wants, but she understood my need to feather my nest with family articles. It was a treasured, unexpected gift, a section of which hangs in my family room and makes me think of Odie as a young girl watching her grandmother sew.
Miss Manners aka Judith Martin, weighs in heavily on gift lists, noting, “Blatant greed is the No. 1 etiquette problem today.” Ms. Martin blames bad etiquette training and the widespread idea that being honest means expressing your every wish. "Most of my mail boils down to that,” she said, meaning greed. “It’s either from people who think there is a polite way to go begging, or victims who feel they have to comply.”
As an employed early gift buyer, I would become so frustrated with my parents as they consistently answered the gift question with, "We don't want/need anything." I now understand clearly what used to vex me years ago. Last month I gave my dad his Christmas gift early - we attended the one man show, "The Philly Fan" together.
So, is all my gifting this season in this style? Well, only Amazon.com knows for sure. Happy shopping!
Does gender play a role in humor? Are men and women equally funny? Is humor a learned skill or is there an inborn ability that some of us have and some lack? Do men or women (or both) rate humor as the most desirable trait in a friend or partner?
Such questions go beyond my mere mortal powers but they do make me think about what it is that tickles my funny bone. I'll take the last question first and say I love being around people who are funny (as in 'make me laugh,' not odd; odd has its place, but not in this post). However, I draw the line when humor is the only thing someone shares - it seems borderline clown-ish to me. If I get the feeling a person is using their wit as a block in getting to know them, I eventually move on because unrelenting humor has a shelf life.
Connecting with people comes first; if humor helps get me there, then I am all in.
Robin Williams, whose machine gun comedy antics are legendary and put him high atop my list of favorite comedians is a perfect case of someone who publicly shows only 'the funny.' (His "Good Will Hunting" performance does not count. Plus, even though I saw him in concert last year, the chances of my meeting him are so slim that I embrace his "all humor, all the time" shtick.)
However, being amusing is often a cover for something less jocular. The universal icon of the 'comedy/tragedy' mask precisely shows the thin line between a smile and frown. Funny/Sad shares an emotional tightrope just like Love/Hate. What about humor being a product of gender? Are men or women funnier? A recent study from a postdoctoral researcher in the University of California psychology department, Laura Mickes, decided to look into if one gender is more humorous than the other. Her reason for investigating this ticklish topic is even more of a curiosity to me but let's first look at what she found as noted in a newspaper article titled "Seriously, Men Only Think They're Funnier." http://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/13/fashion/seriously-men-only-think-theyre-funnier-studied.html
Male and female undergrads were asked to participate in a cartoon caption contest. "Each was instructed to be as funny as possible coming up with 20 captions for 20 cartoons in - think fast - 45 minutes." Participants then had to rate their choices for funny captions and score them. The results showed that, "While men were deemed ever so slightly funnier (0.11 points out of a theoretical possible score of 5.0), they were mostly considered funnier by other men." Hmmmm.
Men used profanity and sexual humor more than women, "though neither sex necessarily considered those types of jokes funnier." The profane issue is one I wrestle with because done well, humor that includes profanity can be brilliant and inoffensive (for me, Chris Rock leads the pack). I recall seeing Richard Pryor's 1979 movie "Live In Concert." Anytime he would appear on television, I would enjoy his routine which is why the movie proved to be such a disappointment. I thought he overused profanity until it smothered whatever point he was trying to make. He allowed for no lulls and kept cursing with, what I thought, was a purposeless stream of filler. It was obvious and dull. I know he is revered by his fellow comedians, but that movie ruined it for me.
Subtle humor walks a thin line because it still needs to hit the point, yet "bring the funny." It is so painful to hear someone being too understated with their humor. Their fear of failing to be funny beats their attempt, creating a cringe-worthy moment. I hate taking a spin in that arena. Two comedians whose inventive observations succeed, in my opinion are Ellen DeGeneres and Jerry Seinfeld. (In sharp contrast, I also am a fan of Chelsea Handler and Kathy Griffin. What can I say? The layers of humor are complex.)
And this brings me back to the first question - does gender play a role in humor? The Times article described a second experiment to see if men were given more credit than women for their humor. Rating captions to cartoons, "both sexes misattributed the funny ones to male authors and the unfunny ones to female writers. Moreover, females were far less confident about their gag-writing abilities than men." Why is there an expectation that men are funnier than women?
The answer, according to the Times article, is that men are cockier. But what made women think the funny captions were written by men? Is there some predisposition to hand over humor to males? I doubt it. In my humble opinion, I think women use humor to diffuse situations and as a tool to relate to others, whereas men use it to draw attention to themselves.
The Times article alludes to a 2007 Vanity Fair article written by Christopher Hitchens titled "Why Women Aren't Funny." There are several controversial points made by the author, but one that is gold addresses a biological need. "Why are men, taken on average and as a whole, funnier than women? Well, for one thing, they had damn well better be. The chief task in life that a man has to perform is that of impressing the opposite sex, and Mother Nature (as we laughingly call her) is not so kind to men." Women, on the other hand, "have no no corresponding need to appeal to men in this way. They already appeal to men." http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/features/2007/01/hitchens200701
The dance of attraction for so many species is the same - the male has to come under the good graces of the female. Our survival literally depends on it. So, if women find humor a top trait vote getter, you can bet the men put in overtime to hone those skills.
I love the power of humor!
As most parents can attest, young children think we are funny until we aren't i.e. they become teenagers. I am embarrassed to admit that I have said, "People think I am funny!" as my last impotent defense to an eye rolling teenage daughter. This brings me back to the reason Dr. MIckes (the author of the University of California study) initiated her study in the first place. Funny enough, it came to mind after she received a teacher evaluation form completed by a male student with the comment that read, "She is not funny."
Crickets.
Here is an excerpt from Rudyard Kipling's poem "The Female of the Species"
But the Woman that God gave him,
every fibre of her frame
Proves her launched for one sole issue,
armed and engined for the same,
And to serve that single issue,
lest the generations fail,
The female of the species must be
deadlier than the male.
She who faces Death by torture for
each life beneath her breast
May not deal in doubt or pity—must
not swerve for fact or jest.
As we walked to the car a few weeks ago, my daughter and I crossed Broad Street in South Philly in the warm autumn light of dusk. Even in the concrete landscape, the soft glow of remaining sunlight tempered the harsh urban edges reminding me that this time of day is probably my favorite. Twilight's moment is so brief and gorgeous no matter where I am.
As far as atmospheric changes of light go, I am a twilight girl.
As far as the Twilight films and book series go, I am not.
Last night I stumbled across "Twilight," the first movie created from author Stephenie Meyer's vampire sagas. With only 45 minutes left to go, I decided to have a look. Here is what I found: there is lots of intense staring, tremendously high leaping, and lightening speed running. I even tried to read the first book in the Twilight series a few years back and could not make it to my self-imposed reading rule of giving any novel 100 pages of attention before I decide to continue or not. (I continue 99% of the time.) It had all the appeal (and imaginative writing) contained in the phone book. The angsty attraction that the movie and book contain for young viewers has been heard loud and clear. They have exploded on to the scene as publishing phenoms and box office smashes. It is also clear that if I was a tween or teen today, I most likely would be among the throngs of Twi-Hards. Why? Because I had my spin in the vampire world when I was a tween, back in the day.
Jonathon Frid as Barnabas
I was a huge fan of the gloomy, gothic television show - Dark Shadows. I remember rushing home daily from school to tune in to watch Barnabas and company wrestle with their conflicted, brooding lives. It was campy and, yes - dark, at the same time. There was a veneer of family life that barely covered the underpinnings of bloodlust, revenge and desire all on after school TV. I hung a poster of Barnabas Collins with multi-colored lights around it, appropriately enough, in the basement of my childhood home to pay homage to this unlikely hero. (My dad transformed our row house basement into a comfy den, but Barnabas still had a special spot).
And just to up the show stakes, as it were, Barnabas was a vampire. Unlike Twilight's Edward, Barnabas actually bit people - imagine that in the mid to late 1960s daytime television! Barnabas (actor Jonathan Frid) with his high collar capes and natty cravats; Angelique (actress Lara Parker) in her uber-laced gowns and those impossibly long lashes and green eyes; and the doe-eyed Josette (actress Kathryn Leigh Scott) all furtively moving from mansion, to forest, to dungeon, to wharf protecting the secrets they all passionately kept or desperately searching for those they wanted to unearth. For thirty minutes every day, five days a week, the comings and goings of the Collinsport locals became the stuff of legend for my grade school girlfriends and me.
Lara Parker as Angelique
Throughout it all, Barnabas ruled our emotions. He introduced us to the possibility a of a good vampire who was twisted by circumstance and unrequited love. He rankled our notions of good and evil with charm (and those fangs). He opened a casket full of angst and we sucked it all in. Come to think of it -angst ruled the day in Collinsport just as it does in Fork, Washington.It was just layered in period costumes and stark settings (which could sometimes been seen wobbling) all within earshot of the ubiquitous organ music that moved us from place to place. The actors even played multiple roles and we unquestioningly bought it all. It was ludicrous. It was forceful. It was a feast for fermenting pre-teen fretfulness.
While the premiere of "Breaking Dawn-Part 1" rules this week's entertainment headlines, it is another premiere which is capturing my attention. In May 2012, Dark Shadows the movie will hit theaters, starring Johnny Depp as Barnabas. Directed by Tim Burton, the movie includes in its cast Helena Bonham Carter as Dr. Julia Hoffman, Michelle Pfeiffer as Elizabeth Collins Stoddard, and Alice Cooper as himself (love it!). The original Barnabas and Quentin Collins actors (Mr. Frid and Mr. Selby) will appear in cameo roles.
When promoting another movie this year, Johnny Depp was asked about his characterization of the famed Barnabas, and here is how he honored the originator of this neck biting role:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R0ywSz8jqtM&NR=1
The recent spin-off of vampire themed shows and movies swirl around us as the entertainment industry looks to capitalize on Ms. Meyer's popular books. None has had much allure for me, proving the indelible imprint a single vampire can make on a tween girl. Unlike Bella, I have a personality, but, like Bella, I am a one-vampire girl.
that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself-
nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror
which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance."
Excerpt from FDR's first inaugural address, 1933
Franklin D. Roosevelt took office in the depths of the Depression and his first speech as US President contained this well-known sentence. FDR not only wanted Americans to know he understood the concrete weight of the Depression but that the fear it inspired had to be overcome so America could rise up and come back from the economic failure.
I admit to only being familiar with the first half of the sentence, but it is the second part that brings its power to bear. It urges us to overcome fear so that any inertia it brings can be pushed back, allowing forward motion.
When fear is at the wheel, the driving is in reverse.
Photo by scottcan of Free Digital Photos
This, I believe, is the at the core of what caused Penn State's problems regarding the child abuse scandal. The fear of what could happen to a revered, strongly supported, hugely successful athletic program had to have crept into the minds of university decision makers as witnessed reports of Coach Sandusky's destructive conduct were told in 1994,1998, 2000, and 2002. http://www.npr.org/2011/11/08/142111804/penn-state-abuse-scandal-a-guide-and-timeline
Fear is not always an overt action like cowering in the corner or screaming in pain. It often lurks in the corners of our psyche, urging us to take the quieter, safer route. I feel it is the thing that caused the catastrophic failure in decision making when college administrators and staff put athletics first and the victims last.
It is a dangerously human catalyst that, if left unbridled, fails.
I recall years ago reading a book titled, "Feel The Fear and Do It Anyway." I forget any of the book's contents but the title has stayed with me because it so aptly sums up the book's premise. I catch myself restating the title as a mini-mantra when I am stalled by fear (which is pretty often). Allowing ourselves to be fearful is a mighty impulse. Some say it gives the edge we need to move beyond its primal vice grip. But, all too often, we allow it to stop us from doing what must be done.
Performers of all kinds are often heard to have stage fright just before they go on. Heck, even presidential candidates note that fear rises up just before they debate live on television. It is ever present. Unchecked fear is sinister. It is duplicitous. While it reminds us that there are consequences to our actions, fear can handicap us by making us believe it is an answer.
Fear definitely sets off alarms. How we respond makes all the difference.
*July 15, 1983. It was a steamy night in Philly, perfect for an outdoor concert. I was, along with my brother, Vincent, and my concert pal, Ron, in an irrepressible restless state. We felt giddy with disbelief that here we were, at the newly named Mann Music Center, on the cusp of seeing Joni Mitchell perform live.
Today's post is my shameless, diehard fan indulgence because it is Joni's 68th birthday. (Please see the added 07/24/22 note toward the end of this inital post)
I marvel now at the long ago concert's simplicity, confirming for me that the greater the artist, the more unencumbered their performance. Joni shared her songs and the stage with a remarkable cadre of jazz and blues legends - poetic and powerful:
Don Alias - Drums, Percussion Michael Brecker - Sax (born and raised in Cheltenham Twp., PA) Lyle Mays - Keyboards Pat Metheny - Lead Guitar Jaco Pastorius - Bass (born in Norristown, PA) The Persuasions - Vocals
The humid summer evening balanced the smooth musical coolness as Joni glided through her song catalog, focusing on her mid-seventies transition from folk to jazz overtones. I equally felt so hip and so humbled in that crowd.
Joni recorded her first live concert album, "Shadows and Light," on this tour giving endless access to that musically fecund evening.
You Tube reliably serves up many concert moments. This clip of the 1979 tour opener is laced with fifties movie footage shown that night and features Joni and the Persuasions creating a cathedral atmosphere with "Shadows and Light," and ending with Joni and the band offering up the jazz infused "In France They Kiss On Main Street."
Then, Joni and the Persuasions took a spin back to the musical fifties with the unexpected cover of "Why Do Fools Fall in Love?"
Joni's writing is attached, first, to my soul. Sometimes I indulge in reading her lyrics minus the music just for the pleasing poetic experience it brings. The fact that she can create music to push those lyrics further in meaning mesmerizes me and has kept me a fan since I bought my first Joni album, the 1970 "Ladies of the Canyon."
It is her struggle with clarity and opaqueness in relationships that hits me hard. Her soaring descriptions of restless travel and the striving to feed her calling as a painter, poet and musician equally satiate me and keep me hungry for more. This is a contradiction I love to feast on.
She wrestles internally in "Don Juan's Reckless Daughter,"
Behind my bolt locked door
The eagle and the serpent are at war in me
The serpent fighting for blind desire
The eagle for clarity
And seeks to define herself in "A Case of You,"
Oh I am a lonely painter, I live in a box of paints
Unfrightened by the devil
and I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid
And urges us to push through difficulties in "Judgement of the Moon and Stars,"
You've got to shake your fists at lightning now
You've got to roar like forest fire
You've got to spread your light like blazes
All across the sky
And defines love in the aptly named "Love,"
Love never looks for love
Love's not puffed up
Or envious
Or touchy
Because it rejoices in the truth
Not in iniquity
Love sees like a child sees
Joni's title song from her 1991 album, "Night Ride Home," is performed outdoors in this next clip from Amsterdam and captures her divinely pure form.
Can you imagine? $12.50 to see Joni Mitchell?
While she wrote the song "Woodstock," Joni did not perform at the legendary '69 festival because she was booked to appear on "The Dick Cavett Show" the day after the close of the concert. She penned the song as an ode not only to those who were there but to those who wished they were. Images that resonate most for me are Joni's haunting lone performances of the classic song as a third encore in 1983 at the Mann. The silenced crowd soaked in her smooth, thoughtful rendering as she meandered on stage. Joni delivered the final line of "Woodstock," strolled across the empty stage playing the closing melody, and then sauntered out of sight, keeping us spellbound as she continued, unseen, to play her guitar. This conclusion left us with a lasting sigh as the sonorous guitar playing lingered in the summer night air. It was a moment of pure satisfaction.
I remember watching the 2008 Grammy Awards and hearing the Album of the Year award going to Herbie Hancock's "River: The Joni Letters." I jumped up from my chair and clapped with girlish delight. Joni's songwriting is the foundation for the album's collection of guest artist performances and the award was another reminder that her music continues to be relevant.
My daughter, Ali, has a weekly radio show at college and, each week, I faithfully submit Joni song titles that fit the show's theme. Of course, there are always songs that fill the bill. Every once in a long while Ali indulges me and plays a Joni melody. It is a lovely victory.
When asked who my favorite musical artists are, it is funny to think about my immediate reply: Joni Mitchell and Barbra Streisand. I may as well say peanut butter and riesling as my answer. What could these artists possibly have in common aside from the fact they rose in popularity at the same time? I think their singular musical talents show harmonic passion at the highest level. This is the thread that coils around my heart and makes me a fan.
As for the current crop of singers/songwriters, I love Regina Spektor's original style and lyrics. After seeing her perform locally twice, I plan on being in her audience any time she comes through Philly. Her authentic sound meets the Joni litmus test for me.
Joni's songwriting will always warm the piece of me that yearns for exquisite expression.
Happy Birthday, Roberta Joan Anderson. I hope the seasons continue to go round and round for you.
*UPDATE 07/24/22: The stars aligned at the 2022 Newport Folk Festival when the final performance - cheekily titled "Coyote Jam" on the daily festival schedule board - turned into the grandest surprise of the iconic festival - Joni's first performance since she had a brain aneurysm in 2015.
And thankfully, I was standing 20 feet from the stage with my concert buddy and daughter, Alison. (Our third visit to the Fort together)
I had resigned myself seven years ago that I would probably never see her perform again. To that end, in November 2021, Ali and I saw Brandi Carlile perform the entire album "Blue" in its 50th anniversary year at Carnegie Hall in New York City. It was a glorious way to celebrate Joni. I was grateful.
And then came the shock of Newport! I underestimated Joni's power of rebirth, a mistake I refuse to make again.
When Brandi Carlile made the unbelievable introduction and Joni sauntered with support onto a stage set up to replicate her living room at home - my wish came true. I was seeing, hearing, and breathing the same air as my musical North Star - Joni Mitchell.
Sharing this moment with Ali sweetened everything forever.
The performance began with some favorite musical artists (Lucius, Celisse, Marcus Mumford, Taylor Goldsmith, et al) surrounding Joni and playing drums, and guitars, and singing with her as Brandi lovingly guided the group, replicating star-studded 'Joni Jams' that had been taking place once a month in Joni's California living room for several years.
Joni sang "Summertime" solo and we heard her deep, sonorous, timbre. That song was made for her. Joni and the gang dove further into her song catalog, along with some favorites from other artists, and incredibly she even played "Just Like This Train" on her guitar - solo! Sassy girl!
For 40 minutes, I tried to be fully present and to control my grateful tears so this moment would be honored accordingly. I did an okay job.
Joni performing at Newport Folk filled my heart, my soul, and my teenage discovery of her music.
A twenty/thirty something young man stood on the other side of me and we shared how we came to love Joni. It pleased me endlessly to hear that he bought the vinyl copy of "Blue" in his late teens and understood what all the hype was about. His age, his sex, and his sensibilities reaffirmed that Joni' music resonates with e-v-e-r-y-o-n-e.
